


My Heart Penetrated

by SummerEvening27



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullet Necklace, Canon Compliant, Chloe KNOWS, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, POV Chloe Decker, POV Lucifer, Season 4 Non-Canon Compliant, bullet, post-reveal, season 4 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 01:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerEvening27/pseuds/SummerEvening27
Summary: A look at Season 1-3 with the bullet playing a more important role, with a Season 4 speculation.POV changes when the bullet is passed between Lucifer and Chloe.





	My Heart Penetrated

She shakes her head as she watches his retreating figure walk deeper into the warehouse without her, the door he locked behind him wouldn’t budge, refusing her entrance. She swears to God this is the final time she’ll ever let him work on a case with her.  
  
Loading up her gun with the safety on, she turns and looks for another way inside.

 

 

***

 

Now that he’s certain that the Detective is too preoccupied to see what he’s doing, he stands with his good leg and slowly limps off. An earthly inferior bullet grazed him when it was supposed to bounce off him, and he bled, _he bled!_ Nothing on Earth could pierce the Devil. He had continued to bleed until the medics patched up the wound. He has to get to the bottom of this.  
  
Miraculously, the tiny projectile didn’t ricochet too far off from the impact on his leg, which is still hurting, in the poorly-lit warehouse. He snatches up the bullet and hides it in his pocket, he hurries back before the Detective gets suspicious. He’ll inspect it later in private.

 

 

***

 

The bullet is sent flying again. Fortunately, it doesn’t target anywhere near him this time. Unfortunately, it hit his marble wall instead; not enough to make a noticeable mark but still. Maze relaxes from her throwing stance, even she couldn’t figure out the supernatural properties that’s bestowed upon it, capable of injuring an immortal. It’s not Hell-forged or made from Heaven that can possibly be used to kill him. Now that his demon has no clue either, he’s hit a dead end.  
  
For the time being, the bullet remains a mystery, and he’ll keep it until then. Perhaps there are other things on this earth that can penetrate him, he grins to himself at that. Maybe poke a bit of fun at the Detective for shooting him in the leg. He doesn’t understand, but the possibilities of danger seems to excite him.

 

 

***

 

He digs it out from one of his drawers when he set it aside not long ago. It wasn’t the bullet, it’s the Detective. The Devil is vulnerable in the presence of a human. A human that’s immune to his power. The consequences of his own mortality finally sinks in. What’s worse, he lets her get close to him, lets a mutual trust build between them that they have grown to call each other ‘friends’, which now stands on uneven ground.  
  
Something sick and dreadful churns his stomach about what he’s to do with this newfound knowledge, what it could mean, who and what she really is, and if she could be a weapon to be used against him.

 

 

***

 

It finds a place in his pants pocket somehow, and he likes to fiddle with it with his fingers. He brings it along during therapy sessions, but doesn’t let the doctor see it, this bullet is his own personal secret that he’s not willing to share with anyone. He did this with his Pentecostal coin whenever he’s deep in thought, but ever since he used it up, this was the replacement. He can’t hover and flip it above his palm, but it will do.  
  
The snapping call of his name brings him back. The Detective is glaring at him and he gives her a swoon-worthy smile that only makes her scowl at him harder.

 

 

***

 

[8:11 PM] I’m here.  
[8:33 PM] You want me to order you anything?  
[9:07 PM] Where are you?  
[9:42 PM] Are you ok?  
…  
[10:17 PM] Fine. I’m heading home.  
  
His phone lights up at her latest message. There it was again. Home. That word kept flying around during their latest case, and in his two previous therapy sessions earlier. It was unintentional in her part, though she can’t understand what he’s going through, why he didn’t show and stood her up.  
  
He waited for her messages as if he’s with her in spirit when he can’t do that physically. He wanted her to tell him that she’s having a grand time by herself, the steakhouse makes an exquisite branzino, and he wondered if she’s having that or if she preferred something else. If he was actually there, he’d recommend her the fish, but he can’t face her right now.  
  
With every text she sent, drives himself further into guilt. _He absolutely hates this feeling._ And every time he was tempted to text back, call or something, but he did nothing. When she said so herself that she won’t be waiting for him any longer, he faces his phone downwards, he doesn’t want to see anything to remind him of her at the moment or else he’ll down four more shots. He’s hypersensitive of the bullet resting inside his pocket.  
  
Of course he’ll have to explain himself tomorrow, he still owes her a proper dinner, and an explanation. And although he’ll never lie to her, how can he tell her the truth when the truth is that he just had a revelation that he might be, theoretically, quite possibly be falling for her?

 

 

***

 

The beach was the only place in Los Angeles where he can think in peace. Within the city, up high in his penthouse, a perfect view of his stars in the sky at night; yet the city below never sleeps, the lights don’t dim and there’s always the echo of car horns blaring. There is nothing like the view of the ocean, vast and endless, with calming waves drowning everything out.  
  
This was the same shore he landed on that fateful day six years ago, the same sand he bent on his knees to sever himself from his Father’s gift, under the same stars he burnt his wings from existence.  
  
He has a faint idea on why he came here again, his mind was heavy and hurting from thinking too much he needed the quiet to arrange his thoughts. In times like this, his therapist would give him the answer, but he’s not in the mood to talk with the doctor right now, he just wants to be alone.  
  
For the first time since they met, he feels the sting of her rejection. He found it rather enjoyable to flirt and tease only for her to rebuff him every time. He thought of it as foreplay, but her words were final and resolute that he finally heard her, really heard her.  
  
He did try differently this time, he wanted to show her that he’s worthy. He never could have thought in all his existence wanted to be worthy of someone. He never thought he could desire someone like this. He was the Devil, he can fulfill every mortal’s carnal pleasure when they seek his company, when he didn’t question his own worth.  
  
But what was the point when they’ll already forget him the morning after? Did they all come to him to have extraordinary yet meaningless sex? Is that what it was, what he’s been doing all this time?  
  
He did want to have sex with her, but he doesn’t want it to be meaningless. He wants her to… to… let him stay and cook her breakfast in the morning and go drive to work together. He wants to treat her to dinner and actually be there this time. He wants to be her work _and_ romantic partner, like a boyfriend. He has no idea what that entails, but he wants to know all of it if it meant it would get him closer to her, her lips were just a breath away…  
  
His deep exhale did nothing to lessen the weight on his chest. He was kidding with himself. Why did he ever thought he could ever be worthy of her in the first place? He was the Devil. And she was a simple human, yet her traits make her incredibly special. She was kind and pure, and he’ll just tarnish her.  
  
Having a relationship with her while hiding his Devil face would be lying to her, and he definitely does not want to take the chance that she’d run away if he did show himself. It was probably for the best for them to remain as they are. Just friends. Platonic partners. He’d be content with that, he’ll not jeopardize their friendship.  
  
Something bright hits his eyes and he squints. Morning light breaks on the horizon and he hadn’t noticed, he’s been standing here contemplating all night. He already emptied out his flask hours ago. No matter, he’s already made peace with his decision, the tips of his fingers were raw from rubbing over the bullet for hours.  
  
The Devil hardly has any worth to be proud of, after all.

 

 

***

 

If he had thought that the dangers that comes with being vulnerable were exhilarating, then it’s nothing compared to this. The simple gesture of her putting her arms around his neck did things to him he can’t explain. The warmth and security of her hug, happy to know he’s okay and her silent yet deafening answer to his question that this is…real. And she holds him, as if he could mean to belong somewhere. With her.  
  
_Is this what home really feels like?_  
  
He’s still reeling as he returns her hug, never thought in his entire existence could he have this. At the beach he gave up trying to win her over, he was lucky enough to be called her partner, if that was all she wanted from him then he’ll respect her choice. And the next thing he knew she came looking for him and did the craziest thing, she kissed him! It only lasted less than a second but it flipped everything he knew over its head. She dove right back to his lips and he was nothing but a fly heading toward the light, setting him on fire.  
  
Still in each other’s arms, she finally pulls back, he was reluctant to do so. Her eyes glance to his mouth. This may be completely new territory for him, but he might have an idea about what’s to happen next.  
  
They both just started leaning in when the ringing of his phone startled them out of it. He curses Maze for the terrible timing but the message reads of meeting at a bar to talk now. He’d rather be doing what he was doing before they were so rudely interrupted, but the Detective says to go meet with Maze, that she’ll take care of things with the professor and the college kids and then maybe he can come over to her apartment later.  
  
The hopefulness in her eyes is near blinding and his nod is immediate. She grins and leans up to kiss the corner of his lips instead. In a trance, he’s driving away from her, the cuts on his wrist are slowly fading, and he’s planning on what they’ll do later in his head. He could make dinner with just the two of them, no strippers to interrupt them this time. Would it be a date? No, she deserves better than that. He’ll take her out – no, wait, he’ll ask her on a date _then_ take her out; he is a gentleman. They’ll go eat somewhere and everything will be perfect.  
  
And there will be no more worries about him chickening out because he’s all in. Is he going mad for overthinking this? Possibly, but he can’t really care. The wind blows on his face and he’s never felt more invincible.

 

 

***

 

Dr. Linda is feverishly reading on old medical books, Maze sits beside her at the back while Amenadiel is in the passenger seat. It’s race against the clock. He’ll have to inform Daniel to gather the ingredients for the antidote with Miss Lopez. The one time he couldn’t slip through traffic, after honking dozens of times was proven useless he gives up and waits for the bloody light to go green.  
  
He reaches inside his pocket, the bullet a constant presence, he digs it hard on the center of his palm, feeling the imperfect edges until he’s sure it can puncture the skin enough to let out a drop of blood.  
  
He brings his hand up and it just made an odd reddened mark that lingers and gone in seconds. Too far away, too far away. The prospect of her being the source of his vulnerability had shaken him, then not giving a damn about all that when he cherishes the privilege of being at her side. No less than twenty-four hours ago he had to make sure she was far enough away for him to be invulnerable, and she came back alright, if a bit tousled. The shine of her eyes, the kiss she laid upon him, and the tiny nod of her head letting him know what they have was rea-  
  
His eyes shut tight when the photo of his brother and her mother flashes in his mind, his heart gives a painful stutter against his chest. Said brother calls his name, but he doesn’t give notice. _Itwassnotrealitwasnotrealitwasneverreal_. The anger for his Father rages within him and grows sevenfold. He will never let Dad control him and he most certainly will not bring her into whatever Father’s planning.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, he slowly pulls himself together, it can all put on hold after he dies and gets the formula. For her.  
  
The light finally turns bloody green and he guns it.

 

 

***

 

He runs away to Vegas. After finishing the umpteenth bottle, his hands rest naturally inside his pockets until he feels it in the corner. Actually forgotten that he brought it with him, he pulls it out.  
  
Blue eyes and full pink lips overcomes his senses and the bottle he was meant to drink shatters against the wall. Damn supernatural metabolism can’t get him drunk when he wants to forget everything.  
  
After destroying the hotel room, with him lying down in the middle of all the chaos, he’s tucked it inside his fist. Bloody insignificant thing. He’s closed his fingers around it so tight he can’t unclench them. Why on earth is he still keeping this? Remembering her smile, he sighs defeatedly.  
  
Going back to her does not mean he will be part of his Father’s plans, but first he has to figure out what his Mother is up to.

 

 

***

 

Finally remembering and in a moment of panic, he pats around his pants pockets and sags in relief when he finds it there. He keeps most of his stuff (phone, liquor, cash) in the pockets inside his jacket, and now they’re all gone including his shoes. All that he has in his person is his pants, a useless bullet, and a pair of damned feathery appendages on his back.  
  
Whatever game that old bastard wants him to play, Dad can just shove it. He starts his way through the desert on foot.

 

 

***

 

He takes on last look at it and puts the box inside the empty safe, hiding it away behind the hideous painting.

 

 

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She passed out in his bed after getting drunk, again (not naked, but she’s wearing one of his stupid silky cologne-scented shirts which she can’t decide if that’s worse). This time, she lets him take care of her hungover self, drinking the glass of water he offered her, her senses are overriding at the birthday present resting on her chest.  
  
When she’s finally alone, she looks at it more closely. The bullet itself looked ordinary, like every other one for her glock, chipped from being used up. A hoop was attached on top for the chain that was a beautiful thin silver. She had let him do the honors, turning with her back to him. She pointedly ignored the heat on her cheeks when his hands brushed her while maneuvering to clasp the chain around her neck.

 

 

***

 

She likes to feel it in her fingers whenever she’s thinking about a case, lightly scratching it with her nail, finding the little bumps and imperfections. Of course, she’ll never let him see her do it. Coming from him, it could’ve been anything inside that box. It’s an odd gift to be given to her on her birthday, and yet, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Odd, but very sweet, and such a gesture wouldn’t be complete without a sex joke. She’s still smiling days after. The weight of it on her comforts her somehow.

 

 

***

 

His fingers itches and twitches, grasping at empty air. He tries to busy his hands by adjusting and readjusting his cufflinks, twirling his ring around, but in the end it’s not the same.  
  
Sometimes when he can’t focus on what she’s saying, he’ll devote his gaze at it hanging from her neck whenever she doesn’t hide it under her shirt. The odd trinket looks lovely on her; he can say he doesn’t regret giving it to her, he just wishes he has something else to keep with him. This inattentiveness earned him a smack of case files at his arm.

 

 

***

 

She hands the necklace back to him momentarily for safekeeping. He inwardly panics that she doesn’t want to wear it anymore until she reasons out that it will throw off her whole look since she’s going as a female version of him. Wanting to still have a piece of him with her, she takes his handkerchief from his breast pocket and places it on hers.  
  
Now practically dressed exactly as him, she’s ready. He watches her as she goes.

 

 

***

 

A metal shoe piece from a monopolistic-based board game is kept where the coin and the bullet had previously taken residence.

 

 

***

 

She regrets taking it off immediately after coming home. It feels wrong. But she doesn’t want the reminder of another man get between her and Pierce’s relationship. There’s a feeling of incompleteness, though she dismisses that immediately, but she has to check herself whenever she’s unconsciously about to wear it.  
  
She doesn’t let Pierce know, but she keeps the necklace in her pocket; she still carries it around with her, yet she feels wistful. Once she caught herself reaching for her chest instead only to come up empty.

 

 

***

 

He was unbelievable! He told her to come over so they could talk and she saw that he had set up this candle-lit dinner for them and what he was about to say, she thought – she hoped against her better judgment, that he would finally be honest with her.  
  
But he didn’t. And she’s just so frustrated with this man, how could he be so selfish and cares only what he wants and not think about her and her feelings.  
  
But… then he would gone and go do the sweetest things. Like saying her nonexistent brother would be proud of her. And throwing her the high school prom she never got to have. He was all dressed in a fancier suit and bow tie, she was just in her pink sweater and pants but he gave her a corsage and he never took his eyes off her. And giving her that birthday present…  
  
Even so, it’s always back and forth with him and she just can’t put up with that anymore. She’s tired.  
  
Why is she still keeping the necklace? She should throw this away by now. After all, why should she keep it for all the times he pushed her away, for breaking her heart? And besides, she finally has a man that is dedicated to her, the ring on her finger proves that. Speaking of, Marcus just sent her a message of wanting to discuss wedding plans. She leaves it in her bedside drawer and goes on her way.

 

 

***

 

She couldn’t sleep all night, her conflicting feelings keeping her awake. She was just absentmindedly twirling the chain when it dawns on her, she looks down at it tangled in her hand and sighs. She has to stop lying to herself. She couldn’t marry Pierce while her heart still has feelings for someone else. No matter how many reasons she rationalizes up in her head, they all end up thrown out the window and there’s nothing but who she wants, and she wants him.  
  
And she knew it, deep down, right from the beginning. It was never Pierce, it’s always been him.

 

 

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How does one go back to normal when it’s not?  
  
Maze doesn’t come back, and she’s glad for the space. Trixie never asks, but she can see her daughter’s sadness and she doesn’t know what to do to make it right. Her drawing of a man with red horns and tail holding a pitchfork standing beside a little girl is still taped on their fridge, and she can’t make herself take it down lest she upsets Trixie or answer her question on why she doesn’t want it up anymore. Dan and Ella ask about him, she deflects on giving them a straight answer, her hands shake whenever they use his name.  
  
She continues to work without him, at least trying to. He’s worked for he – the LAPD – as a consultant for only three years, but he’s managed engrave his influence in the entire precinct. She can’t go around without anything reminding her of him. The officers he’s made a deal with (or slept with) like to gossip about him. She goes to drink from her mug until she realized that it’s empty, having used to someone refilling it for her. The seat in front of her desk is almost always unoccupied, if he wasn’t talking he would readjust his seat or play with her pendulum or mess with her stuff or whistle, anything that would grate on her nerves. Even with all the hustle and bustle going on in the background, the ringing silence is almost deafening, even more so late in the night when almost everyone’s gone home and there’s no chips being eaten obnoxiously loud to keep her company.  
  
Stakeouts were the worst, she assigned other officers to do it after she sat for only one session of long hours sitting completely alone. She’s done stakeouts on her own before he came along, until it became uncomfortable when she’s gotten used to count on him making it bearable.  
  
She tries to convince herself she doesn’t miss him.

 

 

***

 

It wears his expensive tailored suit, the six foot tall frame she’d recognize anywhere in a crowd. It’s supposed to be him, isn’t it? But the face is so, _so wrong_. Gone was the infuriatingly handsome face she couldn’t choose between to either punch or kiss, the brown eyes she selfishly thinks goes soft and vulnerable only when they look at her, all replaced with a face so scorched it’s beyond healing.  
  
Its flaming red eyes are staring directly towards her. She wants to back away but her limbs are too heavy to move. It parts its mouth and speaks with _his voice_ , speaks with his accent she will know in a heartbeat, and addresses her with her job title, the one he always uses all the time. She can count on one hand how many times she heard him call her by her actual name.  
  
_Detective._  
  
With a start, she wakes gasping and dripping with sweat, her heart hammering so hard it shakes her entire body.  
  
In the nights when the same nightmare comes, it’s impossible for her to go back to sleep. Ruby irises glow behind her eyelids if she closes them for too long. She stays in her bed for several minutes to regulate her heartbeat, then gets up to grab coffee in an unreasonable hour even for her.  
  
Later, she opens her drawer and the necklace is still sitting there, as if it’s patiently waiting for her until she’s finally ready, to either put back on or throw away for good.  
  
She gets her badge and closes the drawer shut.

 

 

***

 

She sees his face come out for the second time. The punished screams in horror as they look into the eyes of the Devil. She pleads for him to stop, that he’s given them enough punishment. He only tightens his grip around their neck.  
  
Desperate, she holsters her gun and reaches out to cup his cheeks in her hand. The heat is unbearable as if she’s holding a piece of wood that’s still on fire, she winces but tries to keep her hold steady. If she can’t get through to him now, she’ll lose him. His skin is so charred underneath her fingertips that she’s afraid she’ll scrape off pieces of him. She gives his face a bare squeeze.  
  
He snaps his gaze to her. His eyes are blazing with such unbridled fury she almost flinches away, but then he blinks and it’s gone. The fire slightly settles and the heat on her palm cools down to normal human temperature.  
  
Finally seeing his face up close, her eyebrows furrow. There’s a sting behind her eyes and she wants to ask him if wearing this face hurts him. And his eyes, the sclera is coal black instead of white, the flames are actually dancing around his irises and it’s…mesmerizing.  
  
It's him. He's looking at her like he always does, like he knows her.  
  
And she knows him. She'd know him in a heartbeat.  
  
In a blink he’s back again. Cheek soft and perfect under her touch with the sharp scrape of his beard. Ember eyes slowly diminishes until all there is are brown ones.

 

 

***

 

Months after she stored it away, she finally takes it out one night.  
  
She remembers that night like it was yesterday. She saw his red eyes in the reflection, it might have been a trick of the light but there was no mistaking it. For a moment, she thought he could be actually telling her the truth.  
  
He goaded her to shoot him, give her proof. And like an idiot, she listened to him and pulled the trigger.  
  
If things happened differently then, she could’ve known he was the Devil right from the start. And what could she have done? Run away like she did, far from this stranger she hadn’t gotten to know, never to see him again. At least she wouldn’t have this emotional turmoil that she might be in love with the Devil; if he hadn’t bled from her shot.  
  
_I make him vulnerable._  
  
That should have made him stay away from her, knowing that being close to her could get him killed. And maybe he did for a bit, until something changed and he eventually stopped running.  
  
But she was nobody special. She knew now he could have anything he desires in this world, and still he chose to stay here in Los Angeles and call it home, and chose to endure stale coffee and life-threatening cases to work with her.  
  
Maybe it’s time she stopped running, too.

 

 

***

 

He was supposed to get something from the Detective’s things and get on with it until he stops short when he spots the necklace amidst his rummaging. He had wondered where it went since he hasn’t seen her wear it for a long time. He presumed she had probably thrown it away, and he wouldn’t have held it against her.  
  
But she came to see him after she’d seen his face, she trusted him enough to look through her stuff without suspicion. She asked question after question and he patiently answered every one, then tensed up when he has to inevitably tell her that she was blessed in this world to cross his path. If knowing who he really truly was didn’t make her run away for good, then finding out that she’s a miracle would.  
  
And still she didn’t, to his surprise.  
  
Seeing it still in her possession, that she’s still kept it, something close to hope grows within him. He knows he should crush that feeling down immediately, he shouldn’t feel hopeful to imagine that he can fix whatever’s left of their friendship.  
  
Her voice from downstairs calls out his name.  
  
But he has learned that when it comes to her, he’s nothing but a fool.  
  
He grabs what he came here for and closes the drawer shut, leaving the bedroom without another glance back.

 

 

***

 

She froze before she could finish what she’s currently doing. Things finally slowed down a little, returned to somewhat normal, even. They’re back on working cases together again. The truth freaks her out less by the day, slowly accepting that this is part of her life now, that he was part of her life no matter how much things have changed.  
  
In a way, nothing’s really changed.  
  
She was going on with her morning routine for work when she was unconsciously about to wear the necklace without knowing.  
  
Looking at herself in the mirror, the bullet sways in the air, the chain in her hands as if she was about to clasp it around her neck like it was natural. Slowly, she lets herself finish the movement, the metal is cold when it touches her, but the weight is familiar and nostalgiac.  
  
She smiles and rubs the bullet lovingly.  
  
Later at work, he’s uncharacteristically silent. She usually has to get his attention, but he already has his focus dead set on her, and she knows why. She leaves it up to him for interpretation, but then again he gave the necklace to her because she “penetrated” him, and feels her cheeks burn. She lets him have another few moments before she has to explain a break on their current case.

 

 

***

 

The weight of it back around her neck should comfort her. It does, but right now she doesn’t need the comfort, she needs the strength.  
  
He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding and it won’t stop. He can’t heal if she’s there. It feels like this is her fault, she knows she needs to distance herself from him, but she’ll never get far enough away and by that time it’ll be too late and he’ll die. She is not going to lose him. She won’t. Not when she accepts him, all of him, every single part that he is.  
  
And so she takes his bloodied hand, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care of everyone looking at her, blocking them out for telling her it’s too late. She just focuses on him.  
  
Intertwining their fingers together, and engulfing his hand with both of hers. She presses them to her heart, the bullet sandwiched inbetween, and does what’s possibly the craziest thing she’s ever done.  
  
She prays.  
  
She absolutely has no idea what’s she supposed to be doing but she has to try. She may have faith in the Devil now but she can’t have faith in God just yet. Anger boils within her, a parent doing that to their own child isn’t right. She wants to punch God the Almighty Himself in the face, but right now she needs His help to save him.  
  
She prays with no words, but pours out her whole heart. She remembers of learning about his sacrifices, of him dying for her, twice. She remembers all the times she worried for him, and finding him impossibly fine, and makes a promise that she’ll never let him go through Hell again. She needs him to be okay now.  
  
If she’s a miracle, if she was born on this world for him, it will be her choice, hers and hers alone. Not anyone else’s. _She chooses him._  
  
She regrets that it’s taken her this long to accept that, right when he’s slipping away from her. Through the tears, she looks to his lifeless face, willing for him to smile at her with that ridiculous smile, for him to open his eyes. If those eyes open red and burning with Hellfire, she’ll rejoice just the same if not more.  
  
Lips on his knuckles, she calls for him.  
  
_Come back to me._

 

 

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Nothing’s worn between them but the necklace. It sways back and forth as she towers above him. His hands leave burning trails across her skin. She has never felt this loved and cherished. Being vulnerable around her has never felt this perfect. He meets her halfway. They find each other through the dark.  
  
They find home better than Heaven itself with one another.  
  
Glowing white wings appear out of nowhere and wrap around the both of them, blocking out the rest of the world. It’s just them and it’s real.

 

 

 

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how I did!


End file.
